When She Dreams (Burning Cove #6)(19)

Arthur had the dark eyes and chiseled profile of a leading man. He deployed a polished charm that seemed to work as well on men as it did on women. His black-and-white evening clothes fit his tall, lean frame with a perfection that could be achieved only through hand-tailoring. His dark, collar-length hair was brushed back from a dramatic widow’s peak and gleamed with just the right amount of oil.

In addition to the Guilfoyles, four attractive young people—two male and two female—circulated around the room offering champagne and a warm welcome. They wore name tags identifying them as dream guides. They all looked as if they had been borrowed from a movie studio for the evening.

“Do you think there’s something wrong with Guilfoyle’s eyes?” Sam asked in low tones.

“His eyes?” Maggie was obviously surprised by the question. “No, what makes you ask that?”

“I noticed a weird look in them when he kissed your hand.”

“Oh, right.” Maggie smiled. “Mr. Guilfoyle possesses what is called a smoldering gaze.”

“I thought maybe he had a vision problem. Does the smoldering thing work on you?”

“Under other circumstances, I might find it entertaining, but I have other interests at the moment.”

“You take this dream research stuff seriously, don’t you?”

Maggie shot him a steely smile. “Yes. I do.”

“Why?”

She blinked. Apparently she had not expected the question. A cool, considering expression lit her eyes.

“I told you, I frequently have lucid dreams, so naturally I’m very interested in the research that is going on in that field.”

It sounded like the truth, but not the whole truth. He was used to dealing in half-truths. You got a lot of experience with them when you worked in law enforcement. They came from victims, suspects, and witnesses. Now that he was in the investigation business, it looked like he would be getting them from clients.

“I understand your interest is personal,” he said. “I was just wondering—”

She shot him a warning smile. “Enough about me. Let’s talk about you.”

“What do you want to know?”

“We can start with the coatrack in your office. Did you get rid of it?”

“No.”

She nodded in a knowing way. “I was sure you wouldn’t.”

“It’s not like I’ve had a lot of time to redecorate the office. Don’t I get some credit for showing up in an evening jacket tonight?”

“Yes, you do.” She studied the jacket. “It’s very nice. You don’t look like a mob boss at all.”

“Have you ever met a mob boss?”

“Well, no. But I go to the movies and read the papers like everyone else.”

“It’s good to know I don’t look like Dillinger or Capone.”

“Much classier,” she assured him.

Was she teasing him?

Before he could decide, she turned back to her survey of the room. “There are a lot of people here tonight. I’m worried we won’t be able to spot the imposter in this crowd.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll know when she arrives.”

That got Maggie’s attention. She glanced at him, intrigued. “What makes you think so? We’re too far away from the Guilfoyles to hear the names of the guests when they are introduced.”

“Judging by the fact that the imposter managed to get herself into the celebrity gossip columns of the newspapers, I don’t think she’s trying to hide. She wouldn’t have gone to that local nightclub and had her picture taken if she hadn’t wanted to be noticed.”

Maggie narrowed her eyes. “I see what you mean. That is very good thinking. Logical.”

“I read The Maltese Falcon.”

“So did I.” Enthusiasm warmed Maggie’s voice. “What do you think of Mr. Hammett’s portrayal of the private detective? There are those in the literary world who have called that book a quintessentially American novel and an important work of modern fiction. Gertrude Stein is said to be a great fan of Hammett’s mysteries.”

Maggie paused with an expectant air. Sam looked at her.

“What?” he said.

She smiled encouragingly. “You are the first person I’ve met who is in a position to judge the character of Sam Spade in The Maltese Falcon from an insider’s point of view. What did you conclude?”

By now he should know better than to resort to wisecracks with Maggie, Sam thought.

“Hammett’s detective is an arrogant, egotistical, narcissistic ass,” he said. “I’d say he has the moral code of an alley cat, but that would be unfair to cats. He isn’t interested in justice. His only goal is to prove to himself and everyone else that he’s the strongest, smartest guy in the room, and he doesn’t care who gets hurt in the process.”

Maggie stared at him, her mouth open in shock.

“Too many big words?” he asked.

She blinked a couple of times, closed her mouth, and got a thoughtful expression.

“I knew there was something wrong with that character,” she said. “I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it was obvious he wasn’t good hero material.”

“Also, he’s a lousy detective,” Sam said.